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by catiemo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catiemo/pseuds/catiemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comes home from law school for Christmas, but a lot has changed.<br/>Written for my good friend and mistress as a Christmas gift (find her at justlikordinary.tumblr.com)</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [jensenacklesruinedmylife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensenacklesruinedmylife/gifts).



                Sam was so frustrated. Law school was a lot harder than he had anticipated. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the work, but it didn’t really leave much time for anything else. So when he went home for Christmas break, there was a lot of catching up to do with Dean.

                “Hello?” Sam called as he walked into the old house. It hadn’t changed much since he moved away, but his room had been converted into a guest room when he moved his stuff out.

                “Sammy!” Dean greeted him, walking in from the living room. “Great to see you.”

                “You too,” Sam said, setting his bag down on the floor and pulling Dean into a hug.

                “I’m serious, I’ve missed you, man,” Dean said when they pulled away, “and I swear, you’re still growing.”

                “Not since undergrad,” Sam laughed, “I’ve checked.”

                “Good,” Dean said with a laugh. “You can put your stuff in the spare room and I’ll get us a couple beers.”

                “Sounds great, Dean,” Sam said.

                They sat on the couch with their beers, neither one of them really knowing where to start the conversation.

                “So, um…first Christmas without dad,” Sam said, “Weird.”

                “Yeah,” Dean said, “You know I still haven’t gotten around to moving into his room? I know it’s been like nine months, but I just don’t feel right about it, you know?”

                “The whole house feels weird without him,” Sam said, “but you must be used to it by now.”

                “Not really,” Dean said, taking another swig, “I keep expecting him to be passed out on the couch when I come home from work, or maybe tinkering on something in the garage when I leave. I think I need to move.”

                “But this is home,” Sam said.

                “Then why did you leave?” Dean asked sadly. He had long ago vented out all of his anger over Sam leaving but the hurt was still there.

                “I wanted more, Dean. You of all people should understand that.”

                “And that’s what hurt the most,” Dean said, “you left me here to take care of his sorry ass. I never had the chance for more. I gave that to you.”

                “You didn’t have to stay,” Sam said, “No one asked you to give up your dreams for dad.”

                “You say that now, Sam, but what if dad had died on your watch? What if you were the one the EMTs called while they were scraping him off the pavement?”

                Sam’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

                “S’not your fault,” Dean said, “drunk son-of-a-bitch did it to himself.”

                “Well, here’s to the drunk son-of-a-bitch,” Sam said, raising his bottle in toast, “may he be celebrating Christmas with Jesus.”

                “Here here,” Dean said, tapping their bottles together.

                They called it a night after a couple of more beers and Sam settled into the new bed in his old room. It felt good to be home, even if he didn’t live there anymore.

 

                The next morning, Sam woke up to the smell of bacon and he trudged downstairs in his pajama bottoms. “Morning,” he greeted Dean, “is there coffee?”

                “Dude, of course there’s coffee,” Dean replied, flipping a slice of French toast. Sam poured himself a cup and leaned against the counter, watching Dean cook. “You sleep alright?” Dean asked.

                “Yeah, fine,” Sam said, “you?”

                “Same as usual,” Dean said, and Sam understood the meaning behind the words. Dean rarely got a decent night’s sleep.

                “You wanna put up the tree today?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

                “Yeah, sure,” Dean said, plating up the French toast next to the bacon.

                They sat at the table and ate their breakfast in silence. When they were done, Sam thanked Dean. “It was great,” he said, reaching for Dean’s empty plate.

                “I got it,” Dean said, “You’re my guest.”

                “I’m still not used to that,” Sam said, “I used to live here. It’s weird.”

                “Nah,” Dean said, “You know I’d offer to do the dishes even if you did live here.”

                “True,” Sam laughed. He picked up the towel and dried the dishes that Dean washed. It was familiar, working with him side-by-side, and Sam relaxed for the first time since he started law school.

                When the dishes were put away, Sam helped Dean carry the tree and ornaments up from the basement. It wasn’t much, just a few small boxes, but as he sat on the floor untangling lights, he remembered being so excited as a kid hanging all the little bobbles on the tree. And if it was his year to put the star on top, even better.

                “Hey, whose turn is it to put the topper on this year?” Sam asked.

                “Don’t know,” Dean shrugged, “You wanna wrestle for it?” he asked, slightly teasing.

                “I think we’re a little too big to wrestle in here now,” Sam said. Everything had seemed so much bigger when they were kids. Sam was now taller than their 6-foot tall tree, and Dean was having a hard time moving around it to hang up the tinsel.

                “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Dean said, “You might as well just do it.”

                Sam looked up and he saw that goofy grin that Dean wore when he thought he was being cute, and Sam had to admit, in this case, he was entitled. “Yeah, okay,” Sam agreed. He finished untangling the lights and he and Dean passed them back and forth around the tree to avoid either of them getting stuck in the corner.

                As they hung the ornaments on the tree, the reminisced about when they had gotten them. Most of them were gold balls that their dad had bought when he realized how bare their tree looked the first year after he and their mom had gotten married, but others celebrated occasions like Sam’s first Christmas or when Dean lost a tooth on Christmas Eve. Their mom had bought the thing when the tooth was just loose and Dean was so surprised that Santa knew he had lost a tooth.

                “Remember the year we got these?” Dean asked, holding up a pair of snowmen, each saying “I love my brother.”

                “Yeah, that was the year I got so mad at you for breaking my RC car that I told you I wasn’t going to give you a present. You said you weren’t going to get me one either, so mom and dad tried to trick us by putting our names on these.”

                “Yeah, they didn’t really think that through, did they?” Dean laughed.

                “Especially when there was a coloring book from me under the tree.”

                “Yeah, and I got you like ten matchbox cars. I cleaned out my piggy bank ‘cause I felt so bad for breaking your car.”

                “What happened to us, Dean?” Sam asked, “We used to be so happy.”

                “Life happened, Sam,” Dean said, “it pinned us down and kicked us in the balls and we just had to take it.”

                Sam laughed, “Life sucks, man.”

                “That it does, but it could suck a hell of a lot more. At least we have each other.”

                “Yeah,” Sam said, “Thank god for that.”

                They didn’t drink that night and instead spent the rest of the day watching old Christmas movies and talking about the few great Christmases they had. Like the year their dad got a huge bonus and he bought them bikes despite Mary suggesting they save it. Or the year Mary made them matching sweaters and, while they looked ridiculous, they wore them all day.

                “You ever wonder if dad would have been the same if mom were still around?” Sam asked.

                “All the time,” Dean said.

                “And what do you think?”

                “Listen, I was older when she died, I saw things you probably didn’t. Mom was the sweetest woman in the world, and dad took advantage of that. I think he would have snapped, with or without her.”

                “So what? He just needed an excuse to be a douchebag,” Sam said.

                “Exactly,” Dean said before adding, “I should hit the hay, work in the morning.”

                “I still don’t get that they’re having you come in one day before you have off for Christmas.”

                “You’d be surprised how many people come in on Christmas Eve,” Dean said, “and they have me working the store, which pisses me off, but whatever. Better than being sent home early because there’s no repairs.”

                “I guess,” Sam said.

                “Night,” Dean said, standing up from the couch, “I’ll probably be gone when you wake up.”

                “Doubt it,” Sam smirked, “I slept in today, it’s not happening tomorrow.”

                “What, you still go for your runs?”

                “Every morning,” Sam said.

                “You’re crazy, and you better not wake me up before my alarm.”

                “I’ll try not to,” Sam smiled as Dean walked up the stairs.

                Sam finished his water and headed to bed, tired from the long day and knowing he needed to rest up for his run.

 

                When Sam woke up in the morning and got dressed in his workout clothes, he tried to make as little noise as possible. He tiptoed down the stairs and put some coffee on. Partly it was so he would have coffee when he got home and partly he wanted to do something nice for Dean.

                Sam went out for the run, the cold air filling his lungs and chilling his sweaty skin. He had forgotten how cold the winters here could be compared to California. He only made it about a mile before he turned back.

                When he walked back into the kitchen, Dean was eating a bowl of cereal at the counter. He turned to greet Sam. “Dude, how early did you leave?”

                “Like fifteen minutes ago,” Sam said, “I forgot how cold it was.”

                “Yeah, you usually take forever on your runs.”

                Sam poured himself a cup of coffee. “You know how long I run for?”

                “I remember a lot, Sammy,” Dean said with a small smirk.

                “Please don’t tell me what you remember,” Sam said.

                “No time,” Dean said, ditching his dishes in the sink, “gotta go bring home the bacon.”

                “Speaking of, I’m gonna go pick up groceries for Christmas breakfast today. Anything particular you want?”

                “We have the same thing every year,” Dean said.

                “Alright, no changing the menu, got it.”

                Dean chuckled. “See you later.”

                “Yeah, have a good day.”

 

                Sam showered and put on some clean clothes before heading to the store. It didn’t take him long to get bacon, eggs, pancake mix, hash browns and a tube of cinnamon rolls. He checked out and brought everything home. It was still early so he wandered around the house, trying to see if anything had changed.

                He didn’t notice much upstairs. Dean’s room (which he only peeked into) seemed the same, his old room had been a guest room since he started law school two years ago. The bathroom had some new towels, but was otherwise unchanged.

                Downstairs, the kitchen and living room were exactly as he remembered. The garage had fewer tools, and the pickup was gone. He went into the study next. The desk had lost some of the clutter and the bookshelves weren’t quite as full. As he looked over the shelves, trying to determine which books Dean had decided to keep.

                And then he saw it. Sitting on the top shelf was his little league trophy. He’d thought he had lost it years ago, but here it was. How did he not know it was in here? He could have sworn he didn’t see it the last time he was in here.

                _Dean must have put it there_ he thought. But how did Dean get it and why did he keep it all this time? He shook his head and left the study. There was only one room left in the house and it was the one he wanted to go into the least.

                He took a deep breath, knowing that it was going to be very weird, even if Dean had gotten rid of most of his stuff already. He paused with his hand on the door, but after a second of hesitation, pushed it open.

                His dad’s room was almost exactly as he had seen it last. The top of the dresser no longer held aftershave or his knife, The TV sitting on it was covered in dust. The linins were stripped from the bed but the mattress and pillows remained. The bedside tables were the only thing unchanged, the alarm clock and the lamps still in place and Sam was sure if he moved them, he would see their outlines in the dust.

                He opened the closet door. It was empty and Sam didn’t know why he was surprised. He hadn’t expected there to be anything in there, maybe a box of little odds and ends, but he knew Dean had taken care of most of those.

                He closed the closet door and leaned against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. This was harder than he thought. The room looked so much like his dad had kept it, but it was clear that he was gone. No wonder Dean avoided the place.

                After a few more minutes, he got hungry, so he stood up and went to make himself a sandwich. He ate at the kitchen counter, his eyes drifting to the open door of the bedroom. By the time he was finished eating, he had made up his mind to empty out the room completely. It would do Dean some good.

                He went to the garage to find some Alan wrenches to take the bed frame apart. It took him a while because Dean didn’t keep his tools as organized as John had, but he found them and went to work.

                When Dean came home, he found Sam sitting in the bedroom, the mattress and box spring against one wall, the pieces of the bed frame disassembled in the middle of the floor. “What the hell?”

                “Hey, Dean,” Sam said, “I was just taking apart dad’s bed.”

                “Why?” Dean asked, starting to get angry.

                “So you can move on,” Sam said, “so we can both move on.”

                “I’ve moved on,” Dean said, “If you haven’t, that’s your business. You can’t be messing around my house.”

                “Exactly,” Sam said, “this is _your_ house now, and you deserve to sleep in the master bedroom. Dad’s memory is taking it up and you need to let him go.”

                And how is this helping you exactly?” Dean asked, decidedly ignoring Sam’s spot-on observation.

                “Because I never had the closure of going through his stuff,” Sam said, “sure I went to the funeral and you have me some of his stuff, but you got to take him out of everywhere else in this house and make it yours. I didn’t get that sense of cleansing, but this helps.”

                “Well, if it helps you,” Dean said, bending down to pick up a hunk of bedframe. “Let’s get this out of here.”

                They hauled everything out to the garage. Bedframe, mattress, box spring, end tables. Sam was working up a sweat by the time they got to the dresser, but he knew they couldn’t stop. If they did, Dean would never finish.

                After the dresser was piled with the rest of the furniture, they went back and stood in the empty room. “You need to vacuum,” was all Sam said.

                “Yeah,” Dean agreed, “but tomorrow. Let’s get some egg nog.”

                “Shit,” Sam said, “I knew I forgot something while I was at the store.”

                Dean checked his watch. “Store should still be open, I can go get some.”

                “I’ll come with you,” Sam said, “I…don’t’ really wanna be alone right now.”

                “Yeah, come on.” They put their coats on and got into Dean’s Impala. It was the first time Sam had ridden in it since he started law school, and it felt good.

                “I’ve missed this car,” Sam said.

                “Sometimes my baby feel more like home than the house does,” Dean said, “but don’t tell the house I said that.”

                Sam laughed and they lapsed into a comfortable silence with AC/DC playing on the cassette deck. The trip to the store was fast and the cashier gave them a kind smile when he checked them out. “I’ve missed this town,” Sam said, “everyone’s so nice here.”

                “What, people aren’t nice in California?” Dean asked.

                “Not as nice as they are here,” Sam said, looking across the bench seat to where Dean was sitting. He realized that more than anything else, he missed Dean. He could never tell him that though.

                When they got back to the house, they watched the old stop motion classics and got gloriously drunk since Sam dumped far too much rum in the egg nog.

                “Dean?” Sam asked after he was far on the road to plastered.

                “Yeah, Sam?” Dean replied, only slightly more sober.

                “I missed you, okay?”

                “I missed you too,” Dean said.

                “I just needed you to know that.”

                “Yeah, I know.”

 

                The next morning, Sam had a huge hangover, but he woke up with his alarm and went on a jog anyway. He only got in about half a mile, but it was something. Dean was still sleeping when he got home and he downed a glass of water and was halfway through a cup of coffee before Dean came stumbling down the stairs. “Coffee,” was all he said and Sam poured him a glass.

                It took a few more cups for them to feel human again, but when they did, they began to plan for the day. “We should move my shit down here,” Dean said, “I mean, while you’re here to help, we might as well, right?”

                “Yeah,” Sam said. “Did you wanna go to church?”

                “Not really,” Dean said, “I kinda stopped believing in all that stuff.”

                “Really?” Sam asked, “Why?”

                “When dad died, it all just started to feel like false platitudes,” Dean said, “I didn’t find comfort in it the way I did when mom died. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t see dad going to heaven and I didn’t want to think about him going the other way.”

                “You think dad would go to hell?” Sam asked.

                “I don’t know,” Dean said, “he had so many vices, I can’t believe that they’d let him through the pearly gates. Hell’s the only other option.”

                “I don’t think hell would want him either,” Sam said, “if that’s any comfort. He wasn’t a good man, but his heart was always in the right place. Not really worthy of fire and brimstone.”

                “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Dean said, “but as far as I’m concerned, he’s just worm food.”

                “Gross, Dean” Sam said, leaning over to slap him lightly on the arm.

                They finished their last cups of coffee and Sam vacuumed the master bedroom while Dean got his stuff ready to move downstairs. When Sam joined him, there were certain things Dean wouldn’t let him go anywhere near and Sam figured it was for the best.

                They took a break for lunch once all the big stuff was moved and they sat at the table for the first time since Sam had gotten there.

                “Thanks for making me do this,” Dean said, “I think it’s helping.”

                “I didn’t make you do anything,” Sam said, “but I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

                “I wouldn’t be okay without you,” Dean said, “even though you weren’t here, you were there for me. You always are. So thanks for that.”

                “You do the same for me,” Sam said, “if we didn’t have each other, who would we have?”

                “Yeah,” Dean agreed, looking down at his plate.

                “By the way,” Sam said after a few moments, “where did you find my little league trophy?”

                “Oh,” Dean said, “I just kind of kept it. I have a whole box of your old stuff if you want it.”

                “Nah,” Sam said, “if you kept it this long, it’s yours.”

                Dean shook his head. “I only kept it ‘cause it was yours,” Dean said, and with those words, the mood shifted. Sam knew exactly what he meant. Dean cared about him, missed him so much because he loved him enough to keep pointless tokens of his little brother.

                “Dean…” Sam began.

                “Don’t,” Dean said, “just forget about it, okay?”

                “Okay,” Sam said, but he knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the right time to talk about it, but he knew they were going to have to. The air was still heavy between them as they finished eating and Sam found it hard to swallow.

                When they were finished, Dean moved the rest of his stuff downstairs and Sam started a roast in the slow cooker. He was glad for the slight break from his brother. Things had gotten pretty heavy and he needed a little space to think. He loved Dean, but how deep did that love go?

                When the roast was cooking, Sam went into the living room and sat on the couch, turning on “A Christmas Story” while he waited for Dean to get his room in order.

                Dean came out a few hours later and plopped down next to Sam. “Well, I’m officially moved in.”

                “How do you feel?”

                “Good,” Dean said, “Like I’ve taken a step in the right direction.”

                “Good,” Sam said with a smile. Dean smiled in return and Sam knew that smile. It was the one he wore when he was genuinely happy. It was good to see it again.

                They relaxed on the couch for a while until the roast was done and it was time to eat. They ate at the table again and talked about pointless things. The heaviness that hung in the air most of the afternoon had disappeared but Sam still felt strange. He didn’t realize why until he caught himself looking at Dean’s lips and he knew he wanted to kiss him.

                Oh god, he wanted to kiss his brother. What the hell? His heart was beating fast against his chest and his muscles tensed. He was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. He ran upstairs and slammed the door to the guest room just as Dean was coming down the hall.

                The knock came a few seconds after he sat down against the door. “Sam?”

                “Go away,” Sam said, burying his face in his hands.

                “I’m not going away until you tell me what’s going on, then I’ll let you freak out in peace.”

                “I can’t,” Sam said, throwing his head back against the door.

                “After all we’ve been through, you damn well can,” Dean said calmly.

                Sam took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves before he stood up and let Dean in.

                “Dean,” he whispered.

                “It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said, “you can tell me anything.”

                “I know, Dean, but I…” He took a deep breath, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

                “Well you gotta give me something,” Dean said.

                They locked eyes for a few seconds before Sam pulled him into a hard kiss.

                “Sam,” Dean said, clearly shocked.

                “I’m sorry,” Sam said, turning and walking into the room, “forget it ever happened.”

                “No,” Dean said, following him and closing the door. Sam turned and looked at him for a few moments, but his expression was unreadable. “How long?” Dean asked.

                “What?” Sam asked, confusion overwhelming embarrassment for the time being.

                “How long have you felt this way?”

                Okay, so that definitely wasn’t the reaction Sam was expecting. “I don’t know,” Sam said, “but I just realized it at dinner.”

                “And that’s why you freaked out?” Dean asked, “Because you wanted to kiss me?”

                “Because I knew I shouldn’t want to,” Sam said, “Because it’s wrong.”

                “Sam,” Dean sighed, “there’s nothing wrong with your feelings. He brought a hand up to gently cup Sam’s cheek, “and there’s nothing wrong with mine.”

                “How long?” Sam asked.

                “Too long,” Dean said, shaking his head sadly, “I should have told you a long time ago.”

                Sam took Dean’s free hand in his. “It’s never too late,” Sam said.

                “Thank god for that,” Dean smiled and Sam knew this one too. It was the one he wore when he picked someone up at a bar, and having it directed at him made him weak in the knees. “You okay there, Sammy?” he asked.

                “Yeah,” Sam breathed, “it’s just…you’re sorta beautiful.”

                Dean chuckled, “you’re one to talk.”

                “Maybe we should both stop talking,” Sam whispered before kissing Dean sweetly. They pressed against each other and the kiss went from sweet to needy pretty fast. Dean guided Sam to the bed and laid him down gently before crawling over him.

                “I love you,” Dean whispered against his collarbone as he unbuttoned his shirt.

                Sam pulled Dean’s face up so he was looking at him. “I love you too.” He ran a hand gently through his hair as he continued to kiss his way down his torso. When Dean got to the waistband of his jeans, he looked up, as if asking for permission. “Please,” Sam sighed.

                Dean pulled the jeans and underpants down at the same time, discarding them to the floor before looking at Sam. “Wow,” was all he could say.

                Sam blushed and fought the urge to throw a pillow at Dean. Instead he pulled him down into a kiss and started unbuttoning his shirt. Dean got the hint and got rid of his own clothes, rolling off to the side to get his pants down. Sam rolled on his side to watch him. When they were both naked, Dean rolled to face Sam and slung his leg over his hip, drawing him in close.

                Sam gasped, partially in surprise and partially because their cocks brushed against each other. It was amazing and Dean just brought them closer together, licking and sucking at his neck. Sam slid his hands down Dean’s back and clutched his ass, pulling it closer to him, muffling his moan in Dean’s neck.

               He slid a finger along Dean’s crack, gently circling his hole. “Can I?” he asked.

              “Not tonight,” Dean said, his hands lightly fluttering on Sam’s abs, “just wanna touch you.”

              “Okay,” Sam breathed. This was all happening so fast, but he didn’t care. He loved Dean, trusted him, and he had for his whole life.

               And then Dean’s hand wrapped around him and all thought left him with a groan. It took a few moments for Sam to compose himself enough to return the favor and Dean bucked into the touch and slammed their lips together again.

              There was a lot of movement, a lot of pleasure and Sam didn’t know anything but Dean. He didn’t care about the noises he was making, didn’t care that his arm was aching. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t even realize how close he was until Dean came with a grunt and set off his own release.

              Sam fell onto his back, but Dean didn’t let his get far, pulling him close so his head was resting on his shoulder. “Feel better?” Dean asked, resting their heads together.

              “Yeah,” Sam smiled, “It’s good to be home.”

              “This is home?” Dean asked.

              Sam laced their fingers together. “You’re my home.”


End file.
